stop clipping the corners off,
the centre is getting smaller,
more and more finite, graphite
shuddering off its skins,
the triangles aren't amounting,
nor are they leaving an impression.
you are just running out of corners,
you are creating a smooth surface,
but its all ripples and missed cuts,
slashed sides narrow open,
barely a wink left in you.
Stop clipping the corners off,
you are sending your self to sleep,
letting all the blood fall
that you really need to keep.
You can not shed skin like a snake,
there will be vigils in your wake,
there will be sad sighs
after each scissor wound
and after each connection that you break.
and after each call that you drop.
and again after each number that you block
or that you don't bring forward
to your shiny new phone,
as you try so desperately,
to be left alone.